


Destcember Drabbles

by MyVisionIsDying



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Dancing, Destcember 2018, Family, Finishing Destcember pretty late I guess, Friendship/Love, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Past Cayde/Andal, M/M, Most characters are either mentioned or show up for a bit, Reflecting on things, Resurrection, conflicted feelings, trying and failing to keep to the lore, vague dreams and fragments of past lives, writing prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-09-13 22:59:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 12,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyVisionIsDying/pseuds/MyVisionIsDying
Summary: "31" days. "31" prompts. "31" drabbles.A look into the lives and minds of three Guardians.





	1. Guardian and Ghost

“I don’t understand.”

“Hm?”

Aeron spares a glance at his Ghost flickering towards him before continuing to scowl up at the star washed sky. The pit in his stomach feels as heavy as the knife he twirls in his hand, the blade carving tiny cuts along his fingertips.

If Aeron’s Ghost could express sympathy easier then he surely would, complete with a frown, so instead the glow around him softens.

“Why did you choose me?”

It definitely catches the Ghost off guard, truth be told. In broad terms, Aeron was deemed worthy of the Light in the eyes of the Traveler- as are all Guardians. But specifically? Though the Ghost is probably trying to compile a list as unsure as he is right at this moment, he knows Aeron is incredibly persistent albeit a little reckless, and he holds enough courage to stare down the Fallen Captain that killed him mere hours after his first resurrection. Why shouldn’t he be a Guardian?

Aeron huffs out a half-hearted laugh that breaks the silence, “You know I’m right. I don’t deserve this second chance.”

“Aeron-”

“There are plenty of people long gone in this town who would be so much better, hell, I’m sure they’d even be willing to go to, what was it? The City? I don’t get why you still stick by me when I’m so-”

“Reluctant? Aeron, I don’t want to force you to do something you’re not comfortable with.”

The Awoken Guardian mutters something about it being more his stubbornness or his selfishness but quietens in defeat. His eyes, green and half lidded, gaze down at the knife with an expression both indecipherable and concerning to the Ghost. Aeron holds it loosely in his hand, turning it over once, twice, three times before setting it down.

“Besides,” his Ghost begins, “you’re  _my_  Guardian, and I wouldn’t change you for the world. Every being has their flaws, it just so happens that some of yours drive your determination.”

“Thanks.”

And it’s possibly the first time Aeron has properly looked at his Ghost, hovering beside him. However his attention is soon grabbed by the bookshelf behind his little companion and a grin splits across his face.

“You know, I saw a name in one of the books I’ve been reading, it fits you quite well. Means loyalty or something to that effect.”

“Oh?” The Ghost bobs curiously. “What’s my name?”

“Caleb.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here we are, for a while I've been vowing to get some Destiny writing on here and what better way than it be the drabbles I'm producing for Destcember. 
> 
> Mostly we'll be following my children in this because I'd love to develop them more as I try to plan some future fics (so some of these chapters are serving as rough drafts). Anyways, first up is my Hunter son, Aeron (pronounced ayy-ruhn). 
> 
> aha in spite of all the things, come yell at me on Tumblr lmao - myvisionisdying


	2. Last City

Ships have barely flown out since the Red War months ago, Aeron reckons it’s because of the fear of not being here if the City gets attacked again and he admits too, to feeling hesitant about leaving for a long period of time. He sits atop the wall, legs dangling idly off the edge; the current patrols pay him no mind as they stroll by.

The City is recovering well though, districts that took minimal damage are just about rebuilt whereas the harder hit ones are still a little ways from being habitable once more. Some surviving buildings are also in need of some care- mostly a repaint, maybe a few window replacements too. Either way, everything and everyone seems to be functioning as normally as can be in spite of the bumps and scrapes left behind by Ghaul and the Red Legion.

And somehow amongst the aftermath of the shitshow, there’s been talk of expansion. Ideas proposed by Hawthorne (and backed by Devrim), wanting to address the threat of overpopulation. Of course, expanding the City is not the only option; Hawthorne also suggested improving and fortifying the Farm, and Zavala- ever the courteous commander- had said he’d look into it. Aeron knows Zavala won’t, or not yet at least; the Titan is hesitant and at this point in time, making sure the City and its people stand solid again is his first priority.

Aeron wonders curiously if the ramen shop Cayde had told him about in one of the shopping districts managed to survive destruction. Who knows, maybe Cayde has already re-acquainted himself with said shop. The thought paints an amused smile on Aeron’s face.

It feels good to be home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the short chapters, I hope to write a bit more for future prompts!


	3. Living Without the Light

Altair-17 had been in the hangar when the Red Legion attacked; he was working on his ship after some debris from the Reef collided with it. Thankfully, Lily managed to transmat her Guardian and several workers onto said ship when the Vanguard called for evacuation. Altair hoped Amanda made it out safe. He also hoped that the Guardians down in the City were able to beat the Cabal back. But when Altair looked to his Ghost after feeling that  _something was off_ , and then looking to the people behind him, that for the first time he felt helpless. All he could do was fly his half repaired ship away and into Earth’s orbit.

He was lucky to be somewhere over Europe when the transmission came through. Something about a safe haven, a place called the Farm- located in the EDZ. If Altair had been alone, then he would have allowed his ship to drift in orbit for a while before returning to the City to fight whatever Cabal remained- after all, they would tire eventually. However, he had humans on board and being an Exo, there was no food for any being to survive. So Altair hoped that his ship had enough power to get them to the Farm.

A weight had lifted off of his shoulders when he saw Shaxx upon arrival (and Altair could carry a lot), it was relieving to reunite with anyone really; and an old barn was dutifully converted into a hanger where Altair quickly made himself at home to finish repairs. He considered flying to Titan to aid Zavala and Sloane but one, Lily would kick his ass to Pluto if he wound up in a tight situation, and two, many other Guardians began swarming in with a plethora of broken ships and sparrows that overwhelmed even Amanda. Besides, Aeron had things covered combat wise, the lucky son of a bitch got his Light back; and goodness knows where Enara ran off to.

Altair had his work cut out, and he didn’t feel entirely helpless.

He could see that many were becoming increasingly anxious and jittery, pacing around the Farm to occupy themselves and help out with mundane chores. Home… home was compromised and not even the Vanguard could do much without the Light. Altair couldn’t blame those feeling nervous, Guardians were supposed to be looked up to in times of need, but they were thrown neck deep into shit all too suddenly and became as mortal as anyone. Guardians never thought that one day they would truly fear death.

Throwing down his wrench and wiping grease from his face, Altair glanced towards one of the barn’s side doors and noticed a young human Guardian- most likely a kinderguardian- sitting against it, hugging their knees to their chest. He approached them carefully, stopping only when they looked up acknowledge him.

“You good with sparrows, kid?”

“Y-yeah, why?”

“I’ve seen you ‘round the Tower hangar over the past couple of weeks, gawking at all the sparrows in repair.”

The kinderguardian stammered, shuffling awkwardly on the ground. “Oh, sorry, I um-”

“Don’t apologise, we need all the help we can get; now tell me, how good are you at reparing thrusters?”

Accepting Altair’s hand to help them up, the kinderguardian smiled and eyed a newly brought in sparrow, broken in many places.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing my very good Titan son, Altair-17 (and also the most neglected out of my three Guardians, oof).


	4. Little Joys

When Aeron returns from a patrol with a cardboard box under his arm, it piques Enara’s interest.

She skims her fingers across the faded cardboard of her brother’s haul. “What is it?”

Aeron grins wide, grabbing the knife to slice through the tape. “Remember how I told you that Caleb found me in a town that we had lived in?”

“Of course.”

“Well I… I managed to find our old house after being resurrected. I, um, found some posessions there.”

Surprised, Enara blinks and peers into the box, pulling out an old photo album and setting it aside. She feels Aeron watch her as she rifles through some belongings that must’ve been Aeron’s once until she retrieves another book. Enara turns it over in her hands, ever so keen to study its condition; the book is weathered and has definitely seen better days but it still seems to be of some use.

“It’s a scrapbook, it used to be  _your_  scrapbook. And there’s still over half of it left blank.” Aeron points out.

It shouldn’t feel this familiar, flipping through pages of writing, photos, bits and bobs taped on that makes Enara smile fondly. The odd nostalgia of forgotten memories belonging to a part of her mind that isn’t entirely hers anymore leaves a tightening knot in the pit of her stomach. A part of Enara wants to throw it out and leave the past firmly behind, but she’s been yearning for a new hobby; there’s been a slow influx of Guardians lately, thus the Tower library is quieter and Enara admits to feeling bored. She aches for something to stimulate her mind.

“Thanks Aeron.”

“You’re welcome.”

She watches him thumb through the photo album with an unreadable expression on his face.

 

 

Enara rarely goes out on patrol, she’s perfectly content with keeping her duties mostly Tower bound. So Aeron’s been bringing back things from his patrols instead; leaves, flowers, and any kind of trinkets he can get his hands on for his sister’s scrapbook. He figured that if he was to try and indulge in sketching while in the wilds then the least he could do was help Enara kickstart her hobby again.

Ikora too, seems fairly lenient about her protege’s new interest, and encourages Enara to pursue it as much as she can- all Guardians need to unwind with something enjoyable. It gives Enara a sense of validation amongst the conflict of meddling with things from her past, no matter how small; it eases her anxiety and lends her a confidence to tell her she doesn’t need to be strictly tied to the “rules” of being a Guardian.

“Aeron,” she calls out to her brother in the hangar, “while you’re gone, could you find some lavender? I’ve read they smell really nice, I’d like to press some in my book.”

Aeron smiles, knowing he’ll be gone for some time and had aimed to bring his sketchbook. “Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the latest prompt I've written for so far, as of publishing all four chapters at once. I do need to catch up so I'm hoping that over the weekend I'll managed to write and post the rest. :')
> 
> Anyways, here we finally get to see my Warlock daughter Enara. Of course I will eventually elaborate on some things here (i.e. them being family, Aeron bringing things from their past- he wants to find out things, and the fact that he doesn't remember bothers him greatly).


	5. Black and White

I can't imagine what it must be like being Aeron, it's rare for him to open up and I'm not exactly one to always know what he's thinking. But I do know that Aeron was, and often times still is, not too keen on being a Guardian. Yet he hasn't ran off or... or worse. So I also know that he's constantly stuck between a rock and a hard place.

It's not difficult having a Guardian who's learned that everything in the universe isn't as black and white as we paint it out to be. Aeron is Awoken after all, a being born from neutrality and is potentially morally grey to boot (at least, according to those incredibly loyal to the Traveler and the Light). I reckon he's had doubts long before he went to the Reef, perhaps being around his people amplified it. At first I had been surprised when Aeron said that he didn't blame Mara for wanting to destroy the Traveler; but now, after supposedly helping the Dreaming City- which hasn't done its world a good with this Taken curse looping over and over, I can't say I blame him for his views now.

He doesn't let on about most things but he seems to know where he stands; I don't think he sees himself straying towards the Darkness, but everything else hasn't exactly been so kind either. I feel Aeron wants to follow his own path, consequences be damned- much like Ana (he always harbored a bit of jealousy towards her). But he's made too many loved ones in the City to just disappear on them; once a person managed to tear down his barriers, he tries to wear his heart on his sleeve in spite of his emotional struggles.

So maybe he is a little unsure. Maybe not being so persistent about getting him to the City quicker was a bad decision. Whatever route Aeron decides to traverse, so help me Traveler I will be there with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I struggled with this prompt so I feel it isn' the best but at least it's something.
> 
> And yes, this is from Aeron's Ghost's point of view.


	6. In the Vanguard

I wasn't there when Cayde and Andal made their Vanguard Dare, must've been scouting with Shiro or something, but I knew. I knew from the hints of regret on their faces, maybe it could've been the hangover on Andal's part, then again maybe not. The Dare was never really brought up, it became a part of my problems when Andal died and Cayde was up to bat for Hunter Vanguard. But Taniks, Taniks they bragged about a lot. Always joked about which one of them would get the honour of taking down that houseless bastard; I laughed about it too and told them that they should be quick or I'd kill Taniks myself. I may have been many years out of my wobbly kinderguardian phase but I didn't know who or what Taniks was- not until they first encountered him and I saw the consequences of their over-confidence.

Before the Dare, a group came back battered and bruised, lost at least one person and another lost their Ghost. Yet Cayde and Andal- the latter having been told of the incident- had this wild drive about them, after possibly staring actual death in the face, I figured they somehow found that and future possible huntings exhilerating in spite of the shit that went on. Many Hunters placed bets amongst themselves, a few Warlocks and Titans too; and Shiro began to conjure scenarios on how Cayde and Andal would kill Taniks. A solid portion of us had assumed that Andal would win- hell even Cayde thought so as well, Andal was something special to him (was special to us but something more to Cayde).

Yeah.

Turned out we all underestimated how good of a shot Cayde was.

When Andal and him returned that day, Cayde announced their presence loudly and the hype around the Tower had attracted the attentions of the Vanguard and the Speaker. Cayde revelled everyone with the story; they thought they were done for, two Hunters being hunted, and Cayde... Cayde had found some luck, popped three Golden Gun shots clean through the and saved Andal's life in the process. I couldn't help but feel like there was something more to that story. I decided not to ask about it, the Dare was won and Andal was Hunter Vanguard.

Until he wasn't.

Unlike Cayde, Andal was deemed responsible to continue to go out on patrol- it was how we managed to get the better stuff after all, he had more information than us scouts. He still ran with us from time to time, but there were some occasions where he'd head out on his own- Shiro and I thought it was a little unlike him, Cayde said he trusted Andal and we went by his word if only to ease the nervousness we were denying.

We were right to be worried in the end. Whenever Andal patrolled alone, it'd take him a couple days- a week tops at most. So when he didn't return by the end of that first week, we all gave him until the following week- thought he found something interesting. However, when the second week passed too smoothly, that was when we started to worry. And Cayde dragged us on so many patrols, hopping back and forth between planets and moons, searching 'til we passed out from exhaustion (correction: 'til I passed out, being the only non-Exo in the fireteam).

Then _he_ showed up. That- I guess, undead- four armed fuck. And that had sealed Andal's demise.

Cayde was devastated.

Cayde also, technically, lost the Dare too.

("With Taniks alive once again, kind of means you didn't entirely kill him. Does that mean you've lost the Dare as well?"

"Huh, I guess you're right.")

(Ha, Shiro was always a smartass.)

That made Cayde Hunter Vanguard.

And he was a good one too. Unconventional and had flare that although was frowned upon, us Hunters appreciated it. Always gave me an excuse to hang around in the Vanguard Hall more- and it was good to see Ikora too.

I miss Cayde. Miss Andal too.

Now a good portion of us Hunters are scrambling about this situation all over again, even Shiro in spite of his absence in the Tower. I think he's still game for our thing. Either way, whatever happens, I'm scared shitless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day I will manage to catch up with the Destcember prompts, today could be that day.


	7. Say My Name

"Aeron."

Caleb's whisper barely breaks Aeron from his thoughts as he wanders the ruins of his town under the moonlight. He's tired. Just thinking about the responsibilities that await him in the Last City are exhausting, and Aeron doesn't think he's ready. He doubts he'll ever be ready. He doesn't want to admit to the anxiety that gnaws at him the way he gnaws at his fingernails whenever he spends a sleepless night staring up at the sky; nor does Aeron want to admit to the refusal of leaving his town, not when there's still so much that could give him a clue about where he came from. A pale green skinned, green haired, glowing eyed humanoid isn't exactly the norm for planet Earth.

Aeron kicks a rock and watches it jaggedly roll down the street. He stops shortly after, feeling Caleb hover beside him, he knows what his Ghost is going to say and chews on the inside of his cheeks in anticipation of a sympathetic lecture. But it doesn't come. Instead, it's a request of sorts.

"You should rest after this. There's still a few things back home that seem interesting."

Aeron looks at Caleb with dark, tired eyes and a weak but genuine smile that tells the Ghost that maybe he will.

\- - - - - 

_"Aeron, you're going to get yourself killed,"_

_Enara chides her brother as he shoulder checks her on his way to the kitchen; Aeron rolls his eyes at the attempt of a threatening glare directed at him and bites into the apple. Enara worries if seething with anger at Aeron's foolish actions is an overreaction, but she holds her ground even as she approaches her brother._

_"And for what? To feel some stupid, unnecessary thrill you experienced long ago way out_ there _." Enara gestures to nowhere in particular in the house, but it's clear she means way out beyond the planet._

 _"It was only a thrill 'cause I was with_ him _."_

_"Yet you still almost died! Is the scar on your back not a big enough reminder? If mom was-"_

_Aeron slams the half eaten fruit on the table in annoyance, he'a glad he hasn't entirely lost his temper yet. "Mom's not here, and if she was then she wouldn't flip out like this."_

_"I'm only looking out for you."_

_"If you were, you would've asked what I wanted and could've let me go, you know, back home."_

_"This is our home."_

_Defeat weighs thick and heavy in Aeron's sigh, it sticks to the back of his throat as he tries to swallow down the last of the apple in an attempt to keep control of his emotions and not cry. And when he passes Enara this time, he maneuvers around her to avoid even the slightest of touches. He feels his sister watch him closely, the shame she's holding burning into Aeron's body and mind, and he feels the shivet tingle down his back- along his scar. There are words he wants to say but he's certain they'll fall on deaf ears again, so his grip on the door handle tightens and Aeron leaves the house. He chooses to ignore Enara call his name._

 

"Aeron, you're going to hurt yourself."

Enara smacks Aeron's hand away from his face as Caleb whizzes around him, healing fresh wounds.

"Does it really matter?"

"You're going into Crucible matches one after the other without resting properly, so yes, it does matter."

Aeron hisses sharply when Enara pokes him in the side. His skin is singed and bruised from countless headbutts with several hot-headed Sunbreakers, jeering them into dueling the Hunter amidst the group fights. It was all fun and games until on Titan really lost their cool and reserved their Burning Maul specially for Aeron.

"I'll go rest up after one more match." He compromises.

"You better." And Enara makes sure it sounds like a threat.

\- - - - -

"Aeron!"

"Come on, hurry up!"

His friends call for him, wearing equal shit-eating smirks. Aeron backs up towards them, still in conversation with another Guardian, they seem pretty interested in the story he's telling. That is until he pulls out the gun he'd been bragging about, the Guardian listening cocks an eyebrow at what they assume isn't much of a sidearm and they laugh.

Aeron chuckles and counters the pessimism. "Trust me, we're going to find out." And gestures to his friends.

The Guardian, though still not entirely convinced, nods slowly before departing. Aeron turns on his heel, waves the gun and then holsters it as he jogs towards his friends- matching their confidence and excitement. They make a beeline for the hangar, whispering a two word chant eagerly.

\- - - - -

"Aeron."

Uldren whines, and Aeron still wonders how he, of all people, can elicit such a noise from the prince. He's in the middle of getting dressed when a pair of hands rest lightly on his hips and he hums tiredly.

"Come back to bed."

"I can't." Aeron sighs, and the hands leave his hips in favour of Uldren propping himself up on his elbows. "I know Cayde is laid-back with all Hunters but he'll kick my ass eventually if I don't report back sooner or later."

He glances over his shoulder and his breath hitches almost immediately. Aeron can't tell if the blanket draping delicately over Uldren is deliberate on his part or it just managed to fall that graceful over him when he sat up. Either way, the blush creeping onto Aeron's cheeks is instant and he bites down hard enough on his bottom lip to draw blood. His heart hammers wildly in his chest at the sheer thought of being needed in ways he's never imagined, and that he also has needs and desires of his own.

He supposes he can withstand a lecture from Caleb later, and maybe be successful in dodging Cayde's teasing interrogations.

("It's got to be Petra, who else would be so interesting for you to spend so much time out in the Reef."

"Cayde-"

"Wait... Is it Mara? Oh my god, Aeron!"

"Shut up!")

Aeron turns back swiftly and crawls onto the bed, kicking off his boots. He doesn't hesitate to kiss along Uldren's jawline before capturing his lips in one long, achingly slow but so desperately passionate kiss; Aeron fights the urge to pull away and smile playfully at the low moan he gets in response. He feels Uldren's fingers run down his spine, along his scar- he's grown used to the shivers that crawl across his back, and he presses himself flush against his lover. To hell with all these duties of being a Guardian, everything can wait for now. Nothing else matters apart from this, all of this- a vulnerability that Aeron has allowed only Uldren to see, a crack in the Guardian mask, the key that fits the lock that hasn't been picked in ages. Hands roam along torsos and every other inch of Awoken skin, and Aeron is lost and drowning in the thrill and pleasure of sharing intimacy with Uldren Sov.

_"Aeron."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took longer than I expected but I wanted a specific part of this to be as good as I hoped it coule be.
> 
> Also hi, yes I am putting Aeron through THAT. :')  
> (apologies if I wrote ooc, I'm going to need to practice)
> 
> Oh, fun little tidbit, and Aeron was (and still kind of is?) around two years younger than Enara.


	8. Legacy of the Golden Age

"Hey pal, I found something if you want to come check it out."

Altair had been in the middle of a patrol when Aeron comms in, aside from the static, he sounds particularly intrigued at the find. He shucks off debris of dead Cabal from his armour and decides to meet Aeron at his location somewhere within the Braytech facility- which most likely explains the static.

Lily floats into view. "What do you think he's found?"

"I've no clue, it makes finding out all the more interesting."

 

 

The hallway of a once high-tech, constantly functioning section of Braytech is dark, dingy and eerily silent for a place half frozen and infested with Hive. Knowing what kind of sickly heinous rituals and breeding take place here makes Altair shudder, and if he could, then he would certainly cringe at all the crust and gunk built up on the walls and ceilings. His skin would probably crawl too, if he had any. Lily hovers by his shoulder and is equally disgusted while providing a soft light.

He finds Aeron pretty far inside the building, situated in a lab and tinkering with a console. The Hunter acknowledges Altair's presence as he cracks the door open further to step in, he stands to leave Caleb to tend to the console.

"Alright, what couldn't hide from your prying eyes this time?"

And in true Awoken fashion of keeping secrets and dancing around the possibility of revealing them, Aeron answers with with a question. "Do you know where we are?"

"A Braytech lab?"

Aeron chuckles, remarks about Altair always being so direct and straight to the point, and gestures to the various cabinets and bookcases lining the walls. They contain stacks upon stacks of books of differing languages covering similar topics; anatomy, biology, the human mind and consciousness, and programming manuals.

"We're in a lab that played a part in pioneering Exo Science, probably theoretical research more than physical, but it's something." Aeron points out. "When I was going through Cayde's caches, he mentioned in one of them something about the Deep Stone Crypt. And I figured a place like this could be of use for finding out more about it."

Altair-17 stares blankly, and considering an Exo's limited facial expressions, it's hard for Aeron to decipher what his friend is feeling. So unbeknown to him, Altair is in shock- his blood would run cold if it could. Exos, Guardian or not, never breathe a word of the Deep Stone Crypt, the dreams are just unsettling enough to scare most into not daring to think about it let alone talk. They're almost like visions sometimes, with a beginning that brings a sense of familiarity and a comforting warmth to Altair's heart. It's as if it was home. Occasionally there's a girl too, with various colourful flowers woven into her hair as dark as the night ( _his little star_ , he calls her). She smiles up at him and Altair can't help but lift her into his arms and hold her close and tell her he's never leaving her. Then, like a bolt of lightning breaking the sky and the clouds apart, an unnerving energy surges up his back and all he would do is walk. In the distance, serene country roads begin to morph into paths of rock and ice, and then he hears her cries and screams- he can't stand to look back and screws his eyes shut. In recent times though, he's seen Aeron and Enara, even the kinderguardian he helped and befriended during the Red War, and many others too. But in his dreams they're wary of him, scared even; they look at him as if he's unrecognisable and he realises too late that he can't stop himself from jerking forward and hurting them until he finally spots the tower. The Deep Stone Crypt.

One of Clovis Bray's Golden Age masterpieces.

How was that considered a good idea?

A legacy of playing God with people potentially down on their luck, feeding them a false hope of starting fresh- which wasn't exactly a lie- but to have them suffer through dreams and countless reboots to make them forget over and over again. Has Ana found this out yet? A heavy stone of bitterness sinks deep into the pit of his stomach. Altair berates the past self he cannot remember for falling into the trap, he also wonders what he could've done to warrant thirteen reboots before the Light seeped into him and added four more.

It's strange to see that the Deep Stone Crypt has attracted Aeron's attention, but he's been embracing his drive to delve into the uncertainty more often and only share it with so few. Altair almost finds it amusing, it puzzles him whether it's Aeron's Hunter side pushing through or his Awoken side, or even both blending together- and Altair knows it still boggles Enara.

He leans over the console Aeron had been glued to and scrolls through database search results for Enceladus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I been sitting on a few rough drafts of a few prompts all of December? Yes.  
> Has my brain been functional enough to get them written on time? Nope.  
> Am I bullshitting my way through a few of these in spite of actually doing some research? Possibly.  
> Will I get this done eventually? Hopefully.


	9. They See Me Rollin'

Altair had heard from a young Awoken Titan of some very secret, very illicit underground sparrow activities in an old district of the City. So like most curious Guardians, Altair opted to check it out without the ever watchful eye of the Vanguard. He reckoned that the sparrows in use could require repairs considering that participants and spectators alike would most likely be too caught up in the adrenaline and recreation to really care about vehicle well-being. What better excuse to slide his way in than that? Altair shouldn't be feeling this smug about it.

The district in question was a little pocket of a town hugging close to the wall, and Altair wondered how the towering structure managed to stay untouched when the Red Legion attacked. A few of the building were in the process of being rebuilt- a couple of clinics and some accommodation taking high priority. It seemed that whoever was in charge of these events had big dreams and high hopes (and with SRL steadying out again after the war it was hard to pinpoint whether Marcus Ren or Enoch Bast were involved as well). It was also apparent where the arena was located, floodlights were being used as spotlights shining high into the sky, and the cheers echoing from the ruins confirmed the Exo's suspicions.

Altair snaked his way through the crowd, weaving quickly between a plethora of humans, Awoken, and Exos to reach the arena itself where several Guardians on sparrows soared past in a rush of cold air- robes, marks, and cloaks all trailing in the wind. As they sped towards and off ramps of varying heights, the group of racers threw themselves from their sparrows. Some continuing to hold onto the handles as they maintained handstands, while others stood up on their sparrows- a couple of Titans attempting to flex for show. One Guardian in particular launched themselves far enough to backflip with an extreme flourish and landed effortlessly back onto their sparrow. The crowd whooped and hollered at the flawless display, giving Altair his cue to head down into the pits or someplace similar to find out more about what exactly goes on here.

 

 

Altair wandered by tons of sparrows hung up by rope or chain, some were lucky enough to have been held up on workbenches, but all of them. he assumed, were broken in some way. Panels were removed to expose engines, handles were missing, and seats were dented or completely taken off. And various grease riddled tools were strewn carelessly across the concrete ground. At least someone had the heart to try to repair the sparrows, albeit a little poorly. But of course, it was as Altair thought. Most people were too occupied with keeping the events running.

It was also second nature for Altair-17 to pick up the tools required whenever he spots a broken ship or sparrow.

He's just about finished repairing his third sparrow when a metal door to the workshop creaked open, revealing two Hunters- both human. Neither of them paid Altair no mind, engaged in a conversation that had riled the younger Hunter by the obvious glare that they were wearing.

"I've broken five sparrows in the span of a week, and others have broken way more. Why are we just letting perfectly fixable sparrows sit and rust?"

The older Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose, already exasperated and dismissive. "Zel, the events need to keep going- there's no time for giving busted sparrows a lick of paint and sending them on their way. I- we all want this to gain traction and be on the same level as the Sparrow Racing League. Now," he shoved a helmet in the younger Hunter's chest with some force, pushing them back slightly, "you should go and wow the crowd some more."

The Hunter, Zel, kept their glare cold and steady, even when their acquaintance disappeared through another door in the workshop. Their fingers curled into the smooth plastic of the helmet, half tempted to hurl it at said door. Instead, Zel set down the helmet before kicking a nearby metal cabinet in annoyance; their scowl had simmered away by the time they turned around to face where the source of a wrench clattering loudly came from.

"Shit." Altair hissed.

"I- I know you. You're Altair-17, you help Miss Holliday in the Tower hangar."

Altair clenched his screwdriver tighter, holding back a bark of laughter at _'Miss Holliday'._  "Yep, that's me. So kid, this is what you get up to when Amanda's not teaching you to upgrade jump ships? Sparrow stunts?"

Zel retreated into themselves briefly, sheepish. "Yeah. Also um, thank you for helping me get my ass in gear during the Red War. Even during our small talks I never got a chance to thank you, we're all so busy in the hangar."

"Don't sweat it kid." Altair was never used to gratitude or compliments, it's an alien feeling. "But I have to ask, why this? SRL is always looking for fresh potential and you're great with sparrows."

"I'm not good enough. Not when Marcus Ren and Enoch Bast molded the League's standards into what it is now. I can't live up to that, they're amazing!"

"You admire them?"

"Very much! My admiration was part of the reason I was always at the hangar before the war- I'd identify which sparrows were good for speed and endurance. And with what I'm doing now, I could forge a name for myself and be legendary in my own right."

Altair could feel the ambition radiating off of Zel like Solar light engulfing its Guardians with its intense brightness and heat. There was potential in all of this. Altair's unsure if begging the Vanguard to allow it would do anything drastic to help- although Cayde would most certainly be down- so another solution would probably be needed. But clearly this new sport of sorts was a safe haven for survivors of the Red War back then (at least that's what Altair was informed of- all of this began as a product to find during those dark times).

"Zel, was it?"

The Hunter nodded.

"Right, you get out there, do your thing while I fix up as many of these sparrows as I can. Once we're done we'll go talk to whoever's  _actually_ in charge of all of this."

Altair turned back to his handiwork, listening to Zel's footsteps fade away and beyond the door they had entered from. What the hell did he get himself into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is a thing now. Totally.


	10. What Is Worth Fighting For

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, so it may not be much to say this but please take caution when reading this chapter as there is a small implied reference to self harm and suicidal ideation.

In spite of the Cabal's constant efforts to mine under the surface, the Vex's attempts to convert the moon, and general Taken infestation, Io's still a mostly quiet place. It manages to somehow remain a serene sanctuary where its sacred site the Traveler last touched still stands. Few Guardians sought refuge during the attack, yet only a fraction of them believe that coming here and reflecting could help with  _something_ \- Ikora being one of those people. Enara likes to think that she too could contribute more. She's probably kidding herself though, Enara rarely steps foot into combat- more of a personal preference to avoid it than a lack of skill or competence.

Enara clutches her scrapbook close against her chest, she tries to ignore the pang of guilt for only managing to salvage only that. It's her safety net, a comforting object that she can rely on when distressed. Her hand may tremble when she writes notes on plants Aeron picks from patrols but it is calming. It's calming when Enara flips through photos of a life long gone; images of her and Aeron smiling widely where she assumes is the Reef- and a location she does not recognise as well. They look younger, happier too, and with a woman who bears significant resemblance to both siblings: eyes glowing green like Aeron's and skin that's tinted purple like Enara's, the only noticeable feature applying to neither was the woman's dark hair. Enara has always been led to believe that the woman is- was their mother. It fills her with a half empty nostalgia as if she actually remembers those moments.

Aeron has long gone to help the now gathered Vanguard to plan a potential attack on the Almighty. Although Enara wouldn't be surprised to find her brother still prattling about on Io to assist Asher Mir; she finds the man cantankerous and unbearable to work with. Enara would rather bathe in a pool of radiolaria than exchange curt pleasantries with  _Asher Mir_. She wonders if that Vex arm of his had put that much of a dampener on his general mood or if he always had such a sour demeanor.

Either way, Enara is perfectly content with sitting on the edge of a cliff overlooking a deep valley, legs swinging back and forth. Austen reels off tales of what happened when the Traveler blessed Io; he hovers close to his Guardian's side as she thumbs through her scrapbook for a third time.

"You have that look again." Austen points out.

"Huh?"

It's rare for Enara to reply not so eloquently to her Ghost's observations- dumbfounded responses makes her sound like Aeron. She knows what Austen means though; Enara tends to frown when she overthinks, mostly because something is bothering her. Enara had been in the middle of processing Aeron's revelation about him and Uldren when she realises that maybe, when her brother helped defeat Oryx, it wasn't just out of heroic instinct to save humanity from another threat. And the comments about Aeron's recklessness on board the Dreadnaught all make sense.

"Aeron lost Uldren when Oryx wiped out the Awoken fleet. He was hurting and was trying to look for closure." Enara says, mostly to herself than Austen.

He was also looking to get hurt during the excursion. Or something worse. Enara has seen first hand her little brother's attempts of dealing with thoughts and feelings. His torso is littered with dozens of scars from fights that he forbade Caleb from healing when they had been wounds- she's assumed that a few of them were Aeron's way of dealing with feelings of affection and attachment and love, while many could have formed from stress and anger and unhappiness. Goodness knows what he had been aiming for as he stared Oryx in the face, mourning and in an incredibly compromised emotional state. It's no wonder that he was the only one who came back bloodied and bruised and weak (his exhaustion must have been a lot more that just physical). It explains the air of tiredness he carries, hopping from Titan to Nessus to Io and such, being the only Guardian with his Light back- he's definitely fighting out of sheer obligation at this point. Enara has seen the way Aeron kept eyeing the cliff she was sitting on with eyes that hide a secret sadness he refuses or struggles to express, she cannot fathom how numb Aeron must be with his mind drifting towards an end that towers over small passing thoughts of loved ones and a home worth saving. 

Enara requests for Austen to transmat her scrapbook to her ship which he does so efficiently. She also requests to send a message to Aeron and the Vanguard: do not start without her. Rising to her feet, cautious of the fall if she missteps, Enara looks out into the valley and the horizon beyond where Jupiter is looming in the sky.

Someone has to look out for Aeron. And if Enara has to fight, then she will fight- it will be worth something.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also I am not good at trying to be productive or consistent...


	11. Let it Snow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Change of plan, I probably won't be able to finish all of the prompts buuut I shall write ones I am confident in doing and upload them, and possibly not in any particular order from now on.

Aeron has already died of hypothermia once in the past twenty four hours, and Caleb fears he's on his way out once more. Of course, Caleb will revive Aeron, it's his duty as a Ghost; he wishes he could do more, or that Aeron could manifest Solar Light as well as Arc. Instead, all Caleb can do is hover close to Aeron with how little heat he emits from his shell, it's not much but it's something.

"It'll be safer and warmer in the City." Caleb urges softly.

"Don't wanna go." Aeron mumbles from underneath an abysmal pile of tattered blankets he had gathered hastily in preparation for harsh weather. He sniffles and rubs his face with a frozen finger that's more blue than green at this point. His head pounds and throbs as if a Fallen Vandal is repeatedly stabbing him with its shock blade. He groans in spite of the reverberation worsening the pain.

"Then at least go and sleep in one of the bedrooms downstairs, please?"

"No!" Aeron rasps, panicked. He's shifted up onto his elbows, causing the blankets to slide down and reveal his face.

Caleb bobs as if to grimace as Aeron winces- neither of them are sure whether it's the mattress moaning under the pressure or Aeron's body. His nose is red in contrast to his swollen and blue lips, and it physically hurts him to blink because his eyes are bloodshot and dry. Though Aeron prefers to keep his hair as an immaculate undercut, it is now dishevelled and falls messily over his face with a rattling cough. He's also shivering violently, more so than when Caleb brought him back to life with the Light. His cloak is discarded to one side of the room, crumpled carelessly. It wouldn't do much to protect Aeron from the bitter cold now.

The Ghost whirls around to lightly nudge Aeron's forehead in gesture to get him to lay down at least, which he does so slowly, hissing through gritted teeth. Caleb then settles in the crook of his neck. Aeron is stone cold.

"S-scared. Caleb, I'm scared."

"Aeron-"

"Last week, I c-couldn't sleep- it was that c-cold." Aeron pauses to wheeze, droplets of blood dotting his hand. "Went down to one of the b-bedrooms while you were in low power m-mode. Couldn't handle it- was dizzy and sick and scared."

Hunters like Aeron have a penchant for the wilds, freely roaming under and open sky with an endless winding path ahead of them. Grass, though patchy and dead from miscellaneous waste and tainted by Fallen Ether, underneath their feet. And the trees, more skeletal than what Golden Age books picture them to be, still sprout leaves that rustle together in a breeze. Hunters are quick to adapt to shifting terrains and environments, making smart use of their surroundings. Hiding from enemies with baited breath or simply wandering aimlessly through fields and deserts and old abandoned towns. Even a small City dwelling can fuel a Hunter's determination to make it theirs- quiet and peaceful or loud and messy, a room for themselves, and their loot and possessions. A meaningful home away from the wilds.

And the thought of going down into one of the bedrooms: stuffy and stifling with thin walls lined in a faded pastel yellow coat of paint, and windows with dust gathering on the murky and broken glass. It terrifies Aeron. It sickeningly frightens him down to the core of his being, stripping away the pride and confidence he's built up to display a small boy shaking in fear. The fear swarms in his bloodstream and buries itself within the marrow of his bones, it makes his skin crawl and his heart thud and murmur. The dizziness it brings is enough to make him pass out. Aeron fears one of the bedrooms will cave in and collapse, it plagues his dreams and robs him of sleep. What if the walls start closing in?

No.

No. No no.

Aeron would rather succumb to frostbite or hypothermia or whatever than step into a confined space of a room only to fall to his knees, entire body numb to the scratchy rug beneath him as fear creeps up to keep him paralyzed in a fetal position. His head hurts and whether that's due to illness or the terrifying, unwanted thoughts of anxiety is way beyond him. Caleb hums an idle tune to comfort him. It lulls Aeron into a sleep, his eyes rolling back into his head.

Aeron stops breathing less than a minute after.

 

 

When Aeron wakes with a gasp- thanks to Caleb- he is warm. His head doesn't feel as heavy although it retains a dull ache due to his resurrection. With each clear breath, warm vapours rise and mingle in the air above him and dances around Caleb. Aeron splays his fingers across the mattress in relief. There is no telling what time of day it is as the clouds are a gloomy grey, and falling from them are flecks of white, floating silently and gracefully down.

Snow.

A flake lands on the tip of Aeron's nose, making him cross his eyes to catch a glimpse before it melts into a tiny water droplet. A tense, tight ball of worry deflates with the breathless laugh Aeron releases. The tears that fall stick to and sting his now snowdrop covered cheeks.

Aeron pushes himself up onto his feet, solidly standing for at least a minute to ease his tired swaying. Slowly, he steps towards the ledge where a large portion of the attic wall is missing and gazes over the town, washed in an orange-grey light from the sky. The fields beyond the buildings are draped in a soft and sparkling blanket of untouched snow. In the distance is a Dreg, scurrying through the flurry both confused and amazed at the phenomenon it most likely has never seen before. The sight amuses Aeron.

The snow dampens Aeron's hair and paints strands of it white. It also gathers on Caleb's shell, prompting him to shimmy it off. Neither Guardian or Ghost need a verbal exchange to communicate that the former is alright. He's lost in the surreal calmness of the snowfall. Caleb's glow pulsates, and he beams to match Aeron's content, lopsided smile.


	12. Past Days

Aeron and Sjur Eido stand shoulder to shoulder, silent and stone-faced as they watch the room fill with people. They are merely feet away from Mara and Uldren, all preparing for another hopefully diplomatic discussion on whether it's right to return to Earth. Aeron swallows dryly at the knowledge of his mother and sister being present amongst the crowd. He awkwardly tugs at his collar, shuffling as not to bump into Sjur, and checks the knives on his belt. He's nervous in spite of the certainty of his stance on the situation. No one is expecting things to grow heated but Aeron still worries anyway. Even Sjur seems to be on edge- cool and calm self-proclaimed Queen's bodyguard Sjur Eido isn't as composed as she usually is, closely observing Mara in front of her (Mara would argue that she isn't the Queen but she sure does act like it).

At the helm of this audience is Esila, daughter of Sila. It is she who had brought up the prospect of accompanying their human cousins. Her suggestion wormed its way into people's heads, forcing Mara to call many again to voice opinions on the matter. Although it's unlikely she would do something to appease that, if anything, she'll probably deter those interested in going. Whatever fate Mara claims the Awoken are in for, returning to Earth isn't part of it, Aeron knows that much. The rest is unclear. Though, if Mara hadn't wanted people toying with the idea then what was the point of leaving the Distributary in the first place? It doesn't really make sense. But Aeron isn't here in the Reef, as they've all called it, for Mara's preaching. Wherever Uldren goes, Aeron will follow, to the stars and beyond. Aeron's mind wanders to the question that'll dance on the tip of his tongue once he and Uldren are someplace private. The excitement of the thought makes him jittery, until Sjur coughs to get his attention.

"They'll wonder why you're smiling so." Sjur cautions, though she wears a matching smile of her own. She knows of Aeron's little plan and wishes she were brave enough to do the same herself, but Mara leaves her so stunned sometimes that she is left with no words to speak. "The people will want to hear of the secrets you know of. They'll start to believe it's secrets of the Queen."

"Let them wonder and conjure stories of what I might keep hidden." Aeron says without a care to the imaginings the Awoken people may bubble in their heads. "And Mara has said this many a time: she isn't the Queen."

"She's the Queen in my eyes."

"And she's the Queen of your heart."

"Yes," Sjur hums, "just like how Uldren is the King of yours."

Aeron rolls his eyes with a grin and heated cheeks, the action of jokingly swatting at Sjur is swiftly held back and forgotten when the room falls silent. All eyes fall on Mara Sov. There's a moment of hushed whispers and murmurs before a cough from the crowd breaks it apart. And people wait with baited breath and inquisitive stares for Mara to begin addressing concerns; some are hoping for a change of heart from her as if they too think that she is now the Queen. 

With question after question being fastballed her way, Mara's ability to remain controlled and level-headed is impeccable. A back and forth game of asking why and what and how. She does a fine job at not thoroughly explaining her answers and decisions but leaves enough that it seems to satisfy some as they sink back into their seats. However, the pessimism and vague hostility from others has riled Uldren, whose hands ball into tight fists at his sides. Aeron steps forward and waits until Uldren notices him to give him a calming look; he takes Uldren's hand in his own and lifts it to his lips. They then step back to allow Mara some space, and to stop Uldren from doing something stupid.

She is in the middle of an exchange with Esila and an a man a few rows back when Aeron's sister, Enara, rises to her feet. Her shoulder length lavender hair frames her frowning face- she looks too much like their mother. Aeron winces.

"Those that want to go to Earth should be allowed to, it's only fair. After all, we all believed there was something more and left the Distributary. How is this any different?"

At the foot of the stage, Esila nods in agreement. And Mara too, nods in acknowledgement, unshaken by the bright violet eyes of Enara coldly glaring up at her. She does not retaliate and instead dismisses everyone curtly, turning to leave as well with Sjur at her heel. An abrupt end is sure to raise some eyebrows- and more concerns for the future too, people are bound to keep talking. Aeron and Uldren share a wary glance before they exit hand in hand.

 

 

Their footsteps echo down the hollow, metal tube of a corridor bathed in a peaceful stillness save for their faint breathing. Aeron's pulse rings loudly in his ears. His limbs tense with anxiety, and when Ulden stops walking, Aeron's stomach spasms uneasily.

"You know I'm never going to leave this place, right?"

"Of course Aeron. Why do you ask?"

"Just... reaffirming things I guess- to myself more than anything."

Aeron blushes at Uldren's low snicker and the kiss he places to his cheek. In return he lightly strokes his thumb over Uldren's knuckles. It's not the ideal place to ask him but circumstances can topple even the most well thought out plans. Would the human tradition of getting down on one knee make them forget that they're in a ship's empty corridor?

"No matter where the situation takes us, I still want to get a closer look at more of those Fallen creatures."

"Even if it means scouting on Earth? You better not get hurt again."

"With you by my side Aeron, I know I won't."

Aeron lifts his unoccupied hand to make a crossing motion over his heart. "Neither will I. I'm not dying on Earth, I'll make sure of it."

Uldren melts into the kiss Aeron instigates, fingers threading through strands of green hair. He hums pleasantly when Aeron pulls him closer, and shivers when Aeron's hands slide deftly under his shirt and up his back. They pull apart breathlessly, and too quickly for Aeron's liking as he catches Uldren's lips in a chaste kiss; they still have duties to fulfil after all.

"You should check on your sister. I know she isn't too fond of Mara."

"Yeah." Aeron sighs. "Enara probably has the same complaints as last time. I won't be too long."

"Good."

As Aeron turns on his heel to walk away, a sharp spark pierces through his muscles and jerks him to turn back around. "Uldren, wait-"

"Hm?"

_Will you ma-_

"I love you."

"I love you too."


	13. Worthy Weapon

_"- I mean, take_ care _of Ace."_

As the audio fizzles out, Aeron kicks the empty metal box off the ledge. It tumbles noiselessly down into the deep, dark abyss below him; and it's sure to give the Fallen or Hive or whatever lurks there a good scare. Aeron sinks to his knees, almost letting his entire body hit the cold hard floor. He is exhausted.

The hunt for the caches in the Arcology left his muscles sore and aching. Aeron can't imagine how Cayde got through the vast amount of Hive swarming about, but he did (and it probably made finding his caches more rewarding that way). A Thrall managed to tear Aeron's sleeve earlier, re-opening a semi-healed gash he received from the Scorn weeks prior. Enara had told him that he should've rested beforehand considering everything that happened at the Watchtower. But Aeron was antsy, there was too much to lose if he simply sat around doing nothing. So he left when he could, after obtaining the necessary parts for Banshee to repair the Ace of Spades.

Now Ace is his. Truly. After listening to every will and testament Cayde made depending on how he died and by who, the last one confirmed it. Though not entirely according to the circumstances, it's close enough.

The air here is dense and stuffy, a horrid mix of the cool yet tight air pressure from being deep under Titan's seas and the heat from the whirring Golden Age generators struggling to power the infested Arcology. Aeron closes his eyes and lets the synthetic breeze sweep across his face and through his hair. And nothing but the sound of far-off humming and his quiet breathing fills his ears. It would almost be serene if it wasn't for the creatures from unknown planets skulking about the place.

Cayde is gone.

Uldren is gone.

And the thought of using Ace after recent events scares him. To wield a gun Cayde used so confidently and with ease, it forces Aeron to question if he's good enough to own it. A gun that reluctantly shot twice. Aeron remembers the first shot ringing loudly behind the door he struggled to open. He remembers how the Ace of Spades rattled in his trembling hand, almost pressed against pale Awoken skin; the trigger was stiff and he had wished it would jam. At least it wasn't the Vestian Dynasty that did the job.

Aeron scrambles to unholster his Better Devils. What would become of it? It's still in decent condition- well used and cared for- and its paintwork may be fading but that's not hard to do. It wouldn't be right to leave it collecting dust when it still works, yet Aeron fears that not using the Ace of Spades would be dishonourable towards his late Vanguard- his friend. Ace is also a better hand cannon in general, and it's his.

His grip on the Better Devils is loose and he contemplates the impulse to throw that into the abyss as well. To watch it become nothing but a speck, disappearing before his very eyes like the people he held close to his heart. Gone. And just like his former life, it would soon be forgotten. But he doesn't and holsters it. Aeron peers cautiously over the edge. He shakes his head at a passing thought and backs away. A few simple replacements and a re-paint should suffice, he'll consult Banshee once he's finished with Ace.

 

 

Enara enters Aeron's apartment unannounced. Her brother hums in acknowledgement of her presence; he's sitting at his desk carefully seeing to whatever he's hunching over. Aeron's chair creaks loudly when he leans back in it to address his sister. Enara's eyebrows raise in curiosity at the purple and white paint staining the Hunter's hands and hoodie. To one side of the desk is a heap of weapon parts, old and new, whereas on the other are paint pots and the brush Aeron had put down. Between them sits a hand cannon.

"Isn't that your gun?

"Got an upgrade." Aeron nods to the bed behind him where his belt lays. The Ace of Spades rests proudly in the holster, it looks as if it were brand new. You couldn't even tell that it had been through a lot in its life and had seen better days. Enara is always impressed at how good Banshee is at his craft.

"So what are you doing with that?" She gestures to the weapon in front of her brother.

Aeron looks up at Enara with a wicked grin. The silent implication is slow to hit, and when it does, Enara gapes. She shifts her gaze from Aeron to the gun, it's a rich purple with white detailing, then back to Aeron again. The disbelief settling firmly over her makes her bark with nervous laughter. He's got to be joking, right?

"Aeron, I can't take your gun."

"It needs a new home and I can't think of anyone better. I know you barely fight but you still look after your limited amount of weapons well; consider my Better Devils as thanks for always keeping my stupid ass in check."

Enara snorts at her brother finally admitting that he is a dumbass. "That's really kind Aeron, thank you."

"No problem. Take care of it."


	14. Dancing is What to Do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. Hello. This is still a thing I'm doing, though pretty slowly.  
> So for this prompt, my totally creative self got inspired by The Umbrella Academy and the dance scene in episode one soooo yeah. Also, Guardian civilian wear? It's heckin fashionable, change my mind.

Tevis paces frantically back and forth across the weathered masonry tiles of a small, secluded area of the Tower's Courtyard. "You know what this means, right? We're fucked."

Cayde is sat on a stone bench, his gaze dark and his jaw clenched. "We're not fucked."

"But-"

"Andal and I made our Dare: he honoured his half of it, now it's time I do mine."

"Cayde, we just lost him! You shouldn't be thinking about Hunter Vanguard already, you're not in the right frame of mind."

"I don't care, and I'd be a fool to  _not_ think about it."

"You and Andal were fools for making that Dare in the first place." Shiro adds, now regretfully, as it stings with the fact that Cayde and Andal were inebriated at the time.

The statement's accuracy punches Cayde forcefully in the gut and his entire body tremors with the harsh mix of a shattered cry caught in his throat and his Light attempting to tame the white-hot anger and guilt crawling all over him. Andal is dead. They had been fools. They were young- _younger_ , and naive and so incredibly stupid. And stupidly in love. Their Dare was like a vow. A promise. But what kind of vow is that when the risk of death is constantly involved? A foolish one perhaps, and it was theirs. Although the old Earth tradition of wearing rings was something that Cayde wasn't entirely opposed about looking into. However, life tears through Hunter Vanguards as violently as Aeron tearing through Fallen at Twilight Gap. At least they managed to salvage Andal's cloak.

Cayde scoffs, then he laughs. "You're right." He looks up at Shiro, who leans against the wall with his hands resting idly on his hips. On one side, Ana shifts slightly, worried for Cayde's well-being; she has a lot of nerve sneaking back to the City after her "death". And as she had explained earlier, some matters are far more important than poking about Mars for answers- her found family always comes first. To the other side is Aeron, staring off into space as his leg jitters. His arms are folded so tightly across his chest that the off-shoulder crop top he threw on rides further up his torso, and the bruise above his hip is a little too fresh.

"What?" Tevis' boots scuff against the floor.

"Shiro's right. Andal and I were idiots. Taniks came back. He came back-" Cayde paused to swallow down the lump of bitterness, choking on words momentarily, "and slaughtered him. We both lost. If I had the Glimmer then it'd be raining on your asses."

"No, it wouldn't."

"Then tell me, out of everyone here, who actually bet something on me being the one to put a bullet through that Fallen asshole's brain."

The four other Hunters stare as Cayde mortified, exhausted and overwhelmed with emotions. Neither of them speak or raise a hand, just as expected. The silence hanging between them is agonising, it taunts them to come forward and snap it with noise- and worsen the tensions casting ugly shadows over the group. It looms and grins and waits patiently for Hell to break loose.

"Of course." Cayde isn't surprised: with his cocksure attitude, who would take him seriously? "I don't blame you guys at all." He tries to sound genuine but the grief and the shame poison his words to come off as patronizing and judging. "It's my fault he died." He feels selfish.

"Cayde, you don't have to do this alone." Ana reaches to place a hand on his shoulder but he shrugs it away dismissively.

"I miss him so fucking much. And none of you understand how I feel- how it feels to have someone ripped away from you so suddenly."

Ana blinks in shock. She allows the cold assumption to sink in and sit in her mind like a rock on the ocean floor, jagged and out of place. "No, we don't understand." She acknowledges. "But Andal was like a brother to us." And turning on her heel, Ana walks away.

After watching her go, Aeron shoots Cayde a sympathetic frown and leaves as well. Shiro follows him quietly and quickly, joining the Awoken man as they blend into the crowd with ease. And Tevis sighs, refraining from agitating Cayde further with unwanted reassurances; he apologises before departing.

 

 

 

The clock reads 2:04 am when Tevis tumbles back into the chair; the room is stuffy and unbearably warm due to the computer and intercom system whirring and humming and filling the air with stupid, static white-noise. Tevis groans. His Ghost chastises him for the Void Light dancing at his fingertips, cooling him down, and he ceases when she gestures at the computer screen. It piques his interest despite not being in the best mood for fun and games. He feels like a coward for bailing on Cayde and holing himself up in a tiny box of a room away from most Guardians in the Tower proves his point. Tevis pushes himself up and leans over his Ghost and the song list glaring brightly back at them, inviting Tevis to drown in something less miserable.

He fumbles beneath the desk, connecting and rearranging wires. When the speakers outside in the Courtyard whine briefly, Tevis grins like a child in a candy shop. He cranks the volume as loud as it can go, spots the perfect pre-Golden Age song, and presses play.

At first, the music startles him, but Tevis soon finds himself tapping his foot to the beat. And then he bobs his head in time too. He is not sure what to do with the rest of his body so his movements remain minimal, and he resorts to drinking in the lyrics and how strange pre-Golden Age music was. Hunters, in general, are considered to be the most childish out of all Guardians. Tevis and his friends are certainly no exception- laughing and joking and never really taking anything too seriously (which, consequently, resulted in Cayde losing lots of Glimmer). They'd cling to Andal whenever he wasn't roped to his Vanguard duties, and even when he was, his little motley crew would perfectly pester him and hang off the railings and lean on the table. They tried, albeit a little too hard, to give him a life outside of wrangling every Hunter so that Zavala, the Speaker, and the rest of the Consensus weren't breathing down his neck all the time. It was fun, but it wasn't the same as having Andal all to themselves. Ikora would quirk an eyebrow in amusement while Zavala always watched before sternly coughing, and Andal would proceed to tell his friends- who are definitely not children- to behave. No wonder Andal always told them off in a sing-song voice.

Tevis smiles. He feels silly for reminiscing about silly past actions but suffocating in sadness isn't as fun as living with synthpop ringing in your ears and knowing your friend would want you to be happy. He kicks the chair down on accident while stepping rhythmically to the chorus, and curses; after hastily picking it back up, Tevis shrugs sheepishly at his Ghost and returns to simply tapping his foot.

Andal's cloak hands limply from its hook. Cayde stares blankly ahead of him, whether he's staring at the cloak itself or the door is something he doesn't really know. He just wishes that the past couple of days were a dream and that Andal will walk through that door any second, crawl tiredly into bed and ask about Cayde's day while kissing him softly. But everything around him is so very real- as real as the corpse lying in a chamber in the Tower, covered in official Vanguard cloth; as real as the too cold and too empty bed he lies on; as real as the muffled music that begins to play through the Tower's intercom speakers. And when Cayde realizes that someone- someone he knows, for that matter- is possibly at the bottom of this, he shakes his head (though admittedly, he is impressed at the feat).

Sundance nudges him encouragingly, she tells him that it is completely alright to let go and live in the moment and forget the snapping jaws of reality. Cayde sighs but he goes to grab the cloak; he dances with the cloak before waving it above his head, twisting and turning and moving his hips almost seductively as if he was dancing with Andal in one of the small clubs down in the City. But his bedroom, located somewhere by Tower North, is void of the familiar flirtatious laughter, and there are no playful hands to roam his body before pulling him to bed. It gives Cayde chills and for a split second he wants to stop, yet he screws his eyes shut and shimmies to the music, pretending that Andal is sitting and watching with hungry eyes. He even goes so far as to jump on the bed, shaking and rolling his body in the hope of passing out and waking up from this nightmare in Andal's arms.

Though he is grateful for Amanda and the couch she installed in her little area of the hangar due to the hordes of Guardians wanting to converse with her, Shiro dislikes how uncomfortable it's become from the constant use. He has tolerated it before without complaint, especially when sleeping in his own apartment proves to be a challenge and he needs somewhere a little more familiar. Maybe the discomfort has heightened due to his feelings on recent circumstances: Andal's death, Cayde's distressed outburst, and how he and the others feel lost. Lost for thoughts and words. Lost in life. The latter definitely being more applicable.

Despite the wily group not doing anything drastically important or worthy enough for the Vanguard to note, Andal always tried his best to make sure they weren't wavering towards the line of downright unimaginable actions. Some Hunters are lone, selfish creatures, and Andal went out of his way to keep his kids, as he would lovingly call them, in line. Shiro misses Andal's familial way of handling them. No one can really come close: the Void occasionally makes Tevis uneasy; Ana is brash, too attached to her past, and "dead"; Aeron is a spectrum of a lot of broken things buzzing around in that Arc-lined brain of his. And Shiro... well Shiro sees a lost Exo staring back at him in the reflection of his knife's blade. An Exo, now confused at the music echoing throughout the empty hangar. Shiro narrows his eyes at the speakers emitting the annoyingly catchy beat; he gets up none the less and walks all the way to close the hangar doors. He allows his shoulder to drop from their stiff stance, tension melting away. Lifting his arms, Shiro pops and locks in a smooth motion from one hand to the other, his body follows suit- from head to toe and back again. It feels a little rigid due to general Exo design- they don't move as fluid or lithely as humanoids but the difference can be so small it's unnoticeable. As the song builds up, Shiro bounces energetically, almost running in place- he's seen someone do it before, he's sure. He is utterly lost in the music.

Ana hadn't been expecting the night air to be as chilly as it is, sitting dejectedly on the steps in the Courtyard. She'd hoped someone would pass by- Aeron, Shiro, Tevis or Cayde- so they could finally talk properly, but as the hours ticked by and the Guardian numbers thinned, and even Tess walking the short distance from Eververse to tell the mysterious and, at the time, masked Hunter to get some rest, it had been hopeless. But Ana still sits, and instead of waiting she watches the City, still illuminated in the dead of night. She should make her way down and visit Camrin before running back off to Mars. Hopefully Jinju will nag at her to actually do so when she's not busy moping. Cayde's right. None of them understand his pain. And Ana refuses to imagine Camrin in any bad scenario, she pushes those unnerving thoughts far, far away from this chance at happiness. Ana is possibly the closest to understanding (if said bad scenarios were to happen). But to not feel the loss at all is going too far. Andal was close to them- they all lost him. Andal kept the scales balanced, collected and laid-back white retaining an air of fun and over-confidence. It was a contrast to Cayde's exuberant wildness and huge self-assurance. They were good together. Aeron and Shiro were more reserved and quiet, although the former was prone to their shenanigans while the latter lived for aiming silly little jabs at his friends. And Tevis always, always enjoyed watching Cayde make a fool of himself to the point of betting on it. Shaken from Cabal and Vex encounters after resurrection, it had been the boys who had overwhelmed her. Andal made her feel welcome- like she belonged- and helped her come to terms with being a Guardian. She would do anything to bring him back.

The speakers groan groggily and her heart races in anticipation of an emergency announcement which will have her frantically searching for an escape. She could hurl herself off the Tower and wait for Jinju to revive her. But the silence hums for too long, and Ana frowns up at one of the speakers blaring the odd, upbeat music. Ana pushes herself off the steps, she shuffles her feet and moves her shoulders, arms loose by her sides as if she's overthinking this too much. Eventually, she begins to move her arms, though awkwardly, in time to the beat, thrown at different angles as she follows no specific routine. Maybe she can convince Camrin to dance with her tomorrow.

Aeron is starfished on the table in the Hall of Guardians. He is incredibly acquainted with the chains of a numbing emptiness shackled around his limbs. And Caleb's compromises of getting some proper sleep in his apartment are so loud in his ear that he bats his Ghost away. Everyone was sad or disappointed at Cayde's seemingly outrageous accusation. Aeron, however, was angry- still is to some extent. There's a deep part of him that feels like it understands that pain as if it remembers something that happened long ago before the Fallen and Caleb arrived. He knows what the heartache feels like, even if he can't pinpoint his own- which made talking to Cayde a lost cause very early on in the conversation. Even if he did, it would've been difficult anyway, considering Aeron's struggle to piece together thoughts and feelings well as if his mind is a jigsaw puzzle with pieces that do not fit. And Aeron had considered hunting Taniks to satisfy his devastation- and to give everyone else peace of mind, but he resisted the temptation and turned tail towards the Crucible instead. He spent several hours flinging himself into gunfights and notably clashed with a charging Titan who tackled him with such brute force that he died almost instantaneously. Despite Caleb's reprimands, Aeron had hobbled back in to put a few rounds into that shithead Striker and wipe the smirk from their face. Then the beautiful, blotchy, black and blue bruise formed like a lake on his skin and Aeron found himself wandering the Tower like a phantom, haunting all the places he knew to occupy his time. He eventually skulked into the Hall when Zavala and Ikora resigned for the night, walking around before yelling at an imaginary Taniks and how much of a bastard he is, and then proceeding to snap at an imaginary Cayde for being so damned stubborn and let people help him. And here he is, spread-eagled on his back and glaring at Caleb.

The bruise throbs and Aeron knows that Andal's probably looking down, teasingly calling him a dumbass but also telling him to rest and let the bruise heal. Andal Brask was always concerned for Aeron's poor self-care; he immediately treated him to ramen upon Aeron's confession of barely eating to get to the City quicker, Andal had been shocked, and it explained why Aeron looked so gaunt. Andal's approach was several times better than Enara's, she was always stern as if playing the role of sibling turned parent figure as opposed to the close friend who took care and was gentle with his words. Aeron wants to jab at the bruise to cease the boiling anger. However, the music booms and vibrates through the table, the beat thrumming beneath him. Aeron rises onto his elbows, gaping in wonder and processing the song; he slides off the table, wincing at the pain shooting along his hip, and pulls Caleb to his chest, swaying side to side. Caleb protests in exasperation as Aeron floats gracefully, airily, spinning around. He grins against Caleb's shell, allowing the Ghost to regain some composure before twirling at the chorus. When Caleb whines at the fast motions, Aeron finally relents and let's go, opting to haul himself up onto the table, swinging his arms back and forth high above his head. His body screams tiredly, achingly, and like everything else in the world, Aeron ignores it.

Usually, the Tower looms dark and silent over the City like a Guardian of its own. In the moonlight, ever blessed by the Traveler's presence, its walls shake to the music and a group of grieving friends manage to find themselves completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot write Guardians dancing to save my life by the way, heh.


End file.
